Those Words, At Best
by M. Elizabeth
Summary: Chuck contemplates suicide after Blair refuses to tell him she loves her. Continues directly after “Chuck in Real Life.” Contains spoilers. Song fic to “Timberwolves at New Jersey” by Taking Back Sunday.


Those Words, At Best

Morgan Elizabeth

Summary: Chuck contemplates suicide after Blair refuses to tell him she loves her. Continues directly after 'Chuck in Real Life.' Contains spoilers. Song fic to 'Timberwolves at New Jersey" by Taking Back Sunday.

_Get up, get up, Come on, come on, let's go, _

_There's just a few things, I think that you should know, _

_Those words at best, Were worse than teenage poetry, _

_Fragment ideas, and too many pronouns, _

_Stop it, come on, you're not making sense now, You can't make them want you_

Chuck left Blair's apartment, as upset as he would allow himself to be. It had been fun chasing Blair, but it was getting tiring, even for him. Why couldn't Blair let herself see that they could and would be perfect for each other? Everything she did confused the shit out of him. But like she said; her body reacted differently than her mind did. She may want the sex, but what if that was all she wanted? No. Chuck wouldn't let himself think otherwise. He knew Blair wanted more than just his... skill. She reacted to every bit of him: every whispered word, every feather-light touch, every soft kiss, the exact same way she reacted when she, had been the sheep, he, as the wolf, had taken advantage of her. And she sometimes used her naivety to her advantage. But most times, just like typical Blair Waldorf fashion, she knew what she wanted and got exactly that.

Chuck wouldn't allow her to win this one though. The bet was on. The stakes were even higher this time. If Blair wanted him, like she acted she did, she would have to say those three words. I love you, Chuck Bass.

_Literate and stylish, Kissable and quiet _

_Well that's what girls dreams are made of- And that's all you need to know _

_You have it or you don't, you have it or you_

Chuck got into his limo and had the driver take him to his penthouse. As he passed the blurring lights of Midtown Manhattan he got lost in thoughts of Blair. What if she really didn't want him? What if those words she said to him were actually true? Chuck couldn't bear to think of that. For someone who never showed his true emotions, he felt like he actually could with Blair. Until that moment she told him she would never tell him she loved him. She could have said, ⌠Chuck Bass I would rather die than say those words, and it would mean the same thing to him.

Everything he was feeling at this moment went against his whole grain of being, his way of life. His father had never shown him emotion. He had never known love from his father and the women, whores seems more appropriate now, never lasted more than a week. Chuck knew by the age of 10 that these women were ⌠just a fuck. The phrasing seems so crude now. It made Chuck cringe when he remembered the time he had told Blair that's all she was to him. The limo stopped and the driver let him out. Chuck went inside to face his demons.

_You have it you know _

_You see how much time you're wasting?_

_You're coward of separating_

Half a bottle of the finest whiskey money can buy and Chuck was past drunk. He had already been slightly inebriated to begin with, but you could knock him over with a feather at this point. His clothing was strewn all over the room. All he had on were his boxers and a scarf. The last scarf Blair had stolen from him and worn. He had gotten it back from her after school. Her scent still lingered on it. It was sentimental, if that.

What a pretty picture he painted lounging on his bed, half naked, a bottle of whiskey next to him, the near empty cup in his hand, smoking a cigarette. But something was out of place with this scene. Something silver lay on the bed next to Chuck's thigh. A silver revolver.

_What will it take to make you admit that you were wrong?_

_Was his demise so carefully constructed?_

_Well let's just say I got what I wanted Cause in the end it's always the same_

Chuck swallowed the last bit of his drink, putting his cigarette out in the few drops of liquid that remained in the cup. The room was hazy, partly because of the cigarette smoke and partly because Chuck was past the point of drunk. He picked up the shiny gun. It was cold to the touch and sent shivers down his spine, the same way Blair did when she brushed past him. Blair.

She was the reason for all this melodrama. What was she, other than a copycat of any other girl Chuck knew he could get? Life would not be the same without Blair. What was a life without Blair? Chuck pondered this as he traced the intricate pattern on the revolver. Is there life without Blair? Is Blair worth all this trouble even?  
Yes, yes and yes. Of course she was. Blair was the only thing in his life that gave him a sense of purpose anymore. He had lost hope in his father long, long ago. Nate was too tied up with Humphrey anymore. But Chuck couldn't really blame him for that. Dan was an escape for Nate, an easy way out of sorts. Seeing Humphrey's easy going lifestyle and not having to worry about the things that Chuck did made him wonder if he could achieve some kind of nirvana. An escape from this life.

His fingers twitched as he wrapped them around the revolver and brought it to his head.

_This is me with the words on the tip of my tongue _

_And my eye through the scope, Down the barrel of a gun _

_Remind me not to ever act this way again _

_This is you trying hard to make sure that you're seen _

_With a girl on your arm and your heart on your sleeve _

_Remind me not to ever think of you again_

Chuck had always wondered how he would die. He sometimes pictured a more dramatic death for himself, going out in a blaze of glory at a young age after amassing a huge fortune for himself, without the aid of his father. But other times he pictured a rather peaceful death, perhaps in his sleep at an old age. But never suicide. Suicide was dramatic. It made a point. People would never forget him for going out like this. He imagined the maid coming in the next morning to clean his room, only to find half his brains covering the wall. What a mess he would leave. His father could never forget him now. And Blair never would either. Chuck would haunt them for the rest of their lives. He imagined the front page of the NY Times to read 'Bart Bass'Boy Blows Brains Out.'What a nice alliteration. Someone who read it would get a chuckle out of it.

How tempting it was to leave the world tonight and never have another worry in his life, to never think of Blair again.  
Chuck put the barrel in his mouth, swallowed his pride and pulled the trigger. And nothing happened. He tossed the gun across the room and passed out cold, but alive, with the glory of love, his love for Blair, to face the world another day.

_Rest the weight, you've had your chance and folded _

_So hold your breath because you'll only make things worse_

The End.


End file.
